Dead Men Don't Draw Wands
by mortianna
Summary: Severus feels slightly depressed. Does his - partner - find ways to make him feel better? Slash, silly, SS and ... well go read:-)


I wrote this a while ago, actually when ff.net banned all NC-17 fiction. I was rather – miffed with the decision and slightly depressed. 

This is what came out of it.

I found it, read it and liked it. Hope you do too!

I dedicated it to Minx, because she is such a wonderful writer and even recommends fics she has not written. 

There are some writers who make me weep because they are so good. I feel like nothing when I read their stuff, but when I come out of my awed writer's block, my writing flows better. The last one in a series of those is Telanu. Her work is wonderful, funny and witty and deeply moving. Go read it! (You can't do links here it appears. Minx has her own group on yahoo and Telanu has her own site the Rag and Bonnet)

This story is HP/SS, slash, obviously, and R, I should say, a rather crude mixture of angst and silly fun. HP and SS belong to me, sure. I put them in their box at night and they await me in the morning. 

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Dead men don't draw wands

"I don't want to", Severus Snape pressed his lips tightly together. "I'm so depressed. And I just don't want to see anybody in this state of mind. I just want to lie here in silence and die. Nobody is going to think of me, anyhow, or miss me. So what is the use in trying and trying and trying?"

Severus felt the figure retreating. Good, he thought in his misery. That had done it. He would be left alone now. Left alone to die. Or perhaps first start on this bottle of exceedingly tasty brandy he had hidden from prying eyes. He was rather proud of it. He lived together with a pair of eyes that were much too insightful for their own good. Sod that, for his good, actually.

He didn't open his own eyes yet. He knew the enemy. The enemy was sly and tricky. And stubborn, too. Patient, even, if only when serving his devious goals. And the enemy was still clinging to his goal, he just knew it. Speaking of dying alone wouldn't bring him the desired state of calmness and freedom. He buried his face even deeper in the cushions, giving the impression of having died already. 

A warm and rather solid form pressed against his back. He didn't need it, thank you very much. He was warm enough as it was, in this bed with the covers still tangled from activities only very recently stopped. A hot brush of air stroked over his cheek, his nose, his mouth. He pressed his mouth and eyes together only more stubbornly and firmly. No, he wouldn't give in to these ridiculous tries. He was above this. Beyond this. He didn't crave human warmth, he only craved the warmth of the earth. Or perhaps that brandy. But surely not this body which so obstinately refused to cool down. Or cool him down, damn him. It rather embraced him as he was not sure the earth could in one of her incarnations. 

Soft lips whispered against his mouth. His ears. Into his brain, directly. "Poor Sevvi-baby, is the world that bad to you?"

Severus Snape hardened even more, he must. His rage at being called this ridiculous nickname was only surpassed by his fury at being belittled like that. Yes, of course, the world was bad to him, it had always been and look how he didn't care. Ha! He was not to be hurt by anything happening in it, he just wanted to be left alone. Was that so hard to fathom? He would not think the word understand in that connection, though. He was quite aware of the fact that he had settled with less than a match for his brain powers. Well, otherwise they were a match, as evidenced by the crumpled sheets. Had been. He didn't groan. Dead men don't groan. He didn't need the world, the world didn't need him. So if it just would go away, he would be fine. He was not some bleary-eyed idiot needing human understanding and caring. Other people might have fallen into the embrace of that voice, those arms and become all mushy and wet in the eyes at a question like that. Would have spilled their guts, being pathetically grateful for the chance of doing so. Not he, not Severus Snape.

A rather small nose nuzzled his hair, reaching for the soft spot he had on his neck. Just about, just under, just – there. No, that wouldn't do. He was a dead man and dead men didn't move into a pair of lips. Even when they were so deceptively soft and rosy just with a hint of steely tongue behind. He knew that tongue well. It was rather – inventive. Stubborn, too. Annoying, like the person it was attached to.

He had moved, damn it. Just because his left leg was beginning to cramp from the position it was forced into by that form, but he knew the person too well to think he would buy that. He could sense the smug grin from behind, with closed eyes to boot. Dead men don't move. Well, not much, anyhow, and only if tortured very skilfully.

His leg was joined by another one, weighing down on him, claiming space that was not given freely. The struggle that ensued did nothing to confirm his given state of deadness. The obnoxious leg only stopped wriggling about when it was seated firmly between his own, warming him more than he really cared for. That whole damned body did this, he noticed only now. The leg was appendixed to a body, a warm and obtrusive thing that didn't belong there. None of it. Not the softer parts, not the harder parts. Nothing of it at all. 

His head jerked up rather violently. Something was nagging him. It was at the back of his mind and the back of his thigh, poking him in his ... Well, that would not do. He turned around with more fervour than was exactly needed for the task and nearly squished the offensive figure in his arms. Where had his arms come from? And when had they closed around this obnoxious, offending, completely clueless idiot who insisted on shoving his body against him?

He opened his eyes and set them into full glaring mode without as much as a second for letting them adjust to the light. "Necrophilia, another mortal sin you'd like to add to your already quite impressive canon?" 

That infuriating person laughed. Laughed into the glaring eyes of a dead man. Well, if he wasn't, the other one surely would be, and soon. "You're not dead, Sevvi-baby. Only a little morose."

"Morose?!" Severus Snape's head jerked up again, his prominent nose hitting the smaller one of the other person with a very satisfying thud. "A little morose? You must be completely mad if you think you can gloss that over so easily."

"Okay, very morose", the voice sounded slightly muffled, due to the fact there was some nose bleeding. Nothing a flick of a wand couldn't cure. Dead men don't draw wands. The other man did. Draw. A wand. The nose stopped bleeding. The voice was less muffled. Something was nagging the front of his thigh. Something was nagging the front of his mind. 

"Completely morose", the voice breathed into his mouth and up his nose, strangely sending shivers through his spine. Dead men don't shiver.

"Why is it you are here and don't let me die in peace and harmony anyhow?", he demanded to know. Sod the shivering! Well, then he wasn't dead, after all, he could as well stand by it. And be his usual self. He grinned rather cruelly. Well, he didn't think his grin was cruel, but had been told so many times. He had been told also what it did to the people he bestowed it on. Especially by the one he did bestow it on just now. And he sensed the reaction. Felt it. Smelled it. Tasted it. It smelt like victory and defeat alike. He would have given his life just to feel a sensation completely. Just once. Not this and that. Just this. Well, after a little thinking: Perhaps not. It would not be the way of a Slytherin, not the way of a Snape especially. 

Well, perhaps death was a very overrated amusement anyhow. Being in a body certainly had its advantages. Even being in a Snape body. A Snape body and mind. 

"Where else should I be when my sweetheart insists on playing the dying swan? Surely my place should be at your side at a moment like this, should it not?" The infuriating man felt very good under his adventurous fingers, even if his talk was, well, infuriating. Severus Snape breathed a little harder. Dead men don't breathe hard. The man lying atop of him smiled. He could feel it. Probably the man had noticed his – participation. Sod him.

Well, not just yet. The man moulded his figure even more to his body and taste. As both of them were naked, still naked, one thing lead to another rather quickly. And smoothly. And roughly. Pantingly. Dead men don't pant. And dead men don't rut like minks. 

He thrust up one last time, stifling a groan, a whimper, a moan. He couldn't quite be sure which it would have been. He didn't want to know. The body above him, in him, collapsed onto him. A dead weight. But rather pleasingly so. He wouldn't admit that, though. Of course not. His hand stroked the damp hair on the head lying on his chest. 

The head moved. The eyes looked into his. Locked for a moment. Became softer. The mouth grinned. "Better now? Feeling alive again?"

Severus Snape snorted. "No thanks to your inventive appliance of mouth-to-body-respiration, yes." A chuckle. "I gave you the kiss of life but of course you wouldn't be thankful for it." "Of course not." Severus managed to let his voice sound as contemptuous as only he could without raising it. 

"Such is life. Gratefulness is only found in rare places". The figure moved and after pecking him on the nose, rolled off of him. Severus couldn't help feeling a little bereaved. His mouth set without his will. The other man chuckled again. "Now, Severus, will you behave?"

Anger rose in him. Anger and a sense of – dread. Was he never to get out of it? Was there no escape – ever? "Behave? What do you want to imply with that? Surely I am not the one to behave. I only showed my disapproval of your completely idiotic idea. It would all have been okay, but you had to come back and drag me into it again. I – will – not – go." 

He let his eyes glare larger than life. Surely even this complete git would understand now that there was no way to change his mind. If death was not his to reach just now, there still remained the bottle. He sat up, feeling strangely vulnerable under the peculiar stare of his bed mate. He didn't let the feeling disturb him. He grabbed for his wand and whispered: "Accio robe". His robe came flying from the living room, where he had shed it under circumstances he would not think of just now. 

He gave the man another dark glare and got up, making his way rather hastily into his study. This was his sanctuary, his retreat, his – home. He took out the bottle and a glass and set to the task of getting drunk, in all decency of course.

He was well on his way, when a breath of freshly showered air came floating across his nose that had been perfectly happy with the smell of brandy and the rather less than fresh odour that reeked from his own body. He didn't feel like glaring even. This last trespass over his limits was just another one in a long line of trespasses since he had been the lucky – in the eyes of the world -, or, as he rather had it, the extremely annoyed, recipient of Harry Potter's decision to move in with his former teacher. He still thought Harry had only done so because he was so keen on making them all gawk. "Let's give them something to talk about", had been his words, if he remembered correctly, and he was sure he did. A rather sorry reminiscent of his fights with You-know-who. The man had been spoiled by them and he had told Dumbledore so frequently. But whenever had anyone listened to him? He took another sip, staring viciously into the golden brown depths. 

His drink nearly splashed onto his robe when Harry jumped him. Jumped onto him and in his lap. He glared at him. "How extremely childish of you, Potter", Severus said. "Let me remind you, that you are not a child anymore, and I surely am not some kind of surrogate father to make up for the untimely decease of your real one, may the gods bless him and may he stay where he is, in peace after all, which is more than can be said for some of us, unfortunately".

The infuriating boy just giggled and rubbed his cleanly shaven cheek on his. "I'm not the childish one here, Sev dearest", Harry said and only the fact that he was rather inebriated and Harry had grown some muscle and was sitting square on his lap, let Severus Snape take the offence and not just throw the man off of him. What good would that do, anyhow? He would never get rid of him, never. The boy would follow him around to his grave and insist on keeping him company wherever he went, god damn him. 

"And who is?", he asked and daring the other man to come out with it. 'Say it and I kill you, and very slowly at that', Severus thought. 'Tell me that you think that I am the childish one, the one who needs therapy and all this crap, and I'll blow you through the roof. And what relief that would be, after all those years.'

The other man didn't say it, he sensed all too well what Severus was thinking. Not only did Severus Snape know Harry Potter, but Harry Potter knew Severus Snape. Even better, as it seemed at times, and of course Severus would never admit that. 

The cheek still rubbed at his and the rosy lips touched his nose and his forehead and it was very distracting. Annoying, really, as usual. "It was of course perfectly sane and grown up to play dead man and get drunk on the simple notion of going out, Sev." The voice of Harry sounded far too soft in his ears. Deceivingly soft. Since when had Harry learned to hone his voice? He must take lessons somewhere, Snape decided. He took another mouthful, even if it was not easy with the armful of man in the way.

And blurted out: "Going out! Ha! Going out". He had to admit that his voice usually didn't crack. The images that flooded his mind were too gruesome to think of. He took another sip. "Outing!"

Harry nodded and looked him in the eye, caressing his temple and the vein that throbbed there with his thumb. He hated that and Harry knew it. Or should know it. He would tell him just before he blasted him through the room. Just so the boy knew what hit him. He glared menacingly and took another sip.

Harry kissed his temple and sprang up in a movement the graciousness of which Severus would have envied under different circumstances. As it was he glared and took to his glass.

"Yes outing", the young man said firmly. "And I'm going now. You can stay here with the bottle. I don't mind. Even if I really don't understand why you are so stubborn. It will be fun".

It was a funny feeling, the brandy taking the wrong way. The long way, considering it sprayed out of his nose. "Fun, indeed", muttered Snape with a venom, when he could. "Your idea of fun was never compatible with mine. Only on very rare occasions", he added hastily, when he noticed Harry's grin. The boy had a point there. Not to let him have it without a fight, he added: "And how very nice of you to not mind my staying here, after the lengths you took to make me go. You are too good, really."

Harry smiled beamingly. "I know, Sev, but it's nice to hear it anyhow, after all the years." Snape groaned. What else could he do? "Go, now", he snarled and took to his snifter in earnest. "And – have – fun." Never had a simple word sounded so contemptuous.

Harry stood at the door and watched his life partner. He refrained from shaking his head. Severus Snape, saviour of the wizard world, potion master extraordinaire, extremely talented lover, and astonishingly good flat mate, had to take to drinking just at the thought of going shopping with him and his best friends. Well, everybody had their faults, had they not?

He sighed and closed the door. The last thing he heard was: "Outing, my arse. A sale at the world's largest store that prides itself of catering to every need. Don't you dare bring me anything from that dratted place, do you hear me? And shake your head as much as you want, I am right in this. That will be completely excruciating, but you are young and will survive, perhaps. Otherwise don't expect my mourning you. It would just serve you right. Trampled to death by the hordes."

Harry grinned behind the closed door. He was rather good at surviving. And he had already decided to buy a pair of leather pants for Sev. Black, and with these nice see-through-thingies on the sides of the legs. Sev would really hate them.

Harry smiled benignly and left the house.

- _The end_ – 

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Oops, there came another homage to Minx:-) out of thin air. Thank you very much for THAT picture:-)


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